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I’m white, my family is mixed.

Kristin Weaver Tlili,
Bangor, ME

My sons are a beautiful combination of Ohio and North Africa living in New England. I never wanted to have to define their race as I wasn’t sure how to correctly capture the beauty of their heritage. There wasn’t a box to check for them on the pre-k enrollment form. I have always wanted to protect them from what I saw and experienced growing up in Ohio, then moving to Boston. My parents raised us in a Catholic but liberal household with values of taking care of people, loving the person for who they are, and making the world a better place. As a teacher in Cincinnati Public Schools in the 1990’s I learned a lot about racism and it’s impact. I wanted to give my students the opportunities I had. Now as a school counselor in Maine and the mom of 2 adult men, I hope to continue to learn from the experiences of others.

More colors more stories more gratitude

mebwPenny Shaff Altman,
Portland, ME.

My father told me stories drawn from his childhood in the Ukraine. My mother told me stories about her life growing up as a Jewish immigrant. I told stories to my children. I tell them to my grandchildren. My youngest grandson’s great grandmother is famous for her stories of Gullah Gitchee and West African heritage and the history of her island. We are richer for being part of different stories.
If we share the same stories and mix our colors, we will be one.

Not Just Any Other White Girl

Francesca Magno
Portland, ME

I come from a very large Irish/Italian family. We have traditions and ideals representative of different cultures. Yet, when people identify me I am simply a white girl. People do not view me as a mix of races. I could be any other ugg wearing, latte in hand, textaholic, but I don’t feel I am only what I appear to be. Due to my non-defined characteristics for either of my ethnicities I am only seen as one. Yes, I am white, but my heart is a representation of three flags. Green, white and red. Orange white and green. But most importantly red, white and blue.

I’m not white, I’m Franco-American.

Shannon Paiement
Sanford, ME

Many people are unaware less than 100 years ago, the KKK was marching through my hometown, discriminating against Franco-American mill workers. Since then, times have greatly improved attitudes towards Franco-Americans however the cycle of poverty continues to affect many families of those connected to mill work. This card is part of an ANT 493 (Capstone) assignment.

I am me, do not panic.

James Eliot Griffith
Stillwater, OK

It’s irritating how in this day and age if I just tell someone I’m Mexican (which is the side of my family I identify with a bit more since I grew up on the border in South Texas) everyone is perfectly fine and its all cool. But if I happen to mention that I’m only half Mexican people start freaking out looking at me cross-eyed and asking which side of my family is white when my last name is Griffith. I mean really?! Strangely enough this was never actually an issue and no one cared until I moved to Oklahoma for college which is when I started noticing it. A college campus one of THE most multicultural areas in the state and people get freaked out by my being half and half. Its even worse when people refuse to believe my sisters and I are related since one of them is takes after our dad and is really pale. One old lady was convinced we were dating which left me feeling like I was gonna throw up. Jeez I’m sorry y’all somewhere along the way this turned into a rant guess I needed to vent a little thanks for your time everybody.

Brother played Cowboy, never the Indian.

bonni-4Bonni Hamilton,
Eliot, ME.

I grew up with two Native American siblings who my parents adopted when we were very small. When he was young, my Lakota brother always wanted to be the cowboy in Cowboys and Indians. He knew from personal experience the Indians always lost. The memory still breaks my heart.

There is but ONE Race, HUMAN!

Jim Roaix,
Lake Worth Beach, FL

I was born in northern Maine, so far out in the woods that it took two days for tomorrow to get there, and we scheduled Summer for July 7th from 2 to 4 in the afternoon. I was exposed to all races at a very young age and always thought of the world as my relatives I have visited nineteen countries and always sought out the indigenous peoples, the best way to know the people. My wife has asked a black man to hold her purse while she jotted down her contact info for another lady in the elevator. But. … and it’s a big but, I believe everyone is a bit of a racist in some aspect(s) of their life. This is a wonderful project! Well worthy of at least a 2-hour Nat Geo special.

Yankee child crossed South’s colorline. Paid.

Rebekah Bickford,
Baldwin, ME.

My white family moved from Indiana to Mississippi in 1977, when I was 8 years old. Our family was seen as “Northern Yankees” and we were not welcomed by many in the white community. The black children were kind to me when I entered school and quickly became my friends. I didn’t know about the colorline or the Civil War for that matter. The other white children in my neighborhood began harassing me and calling me names, and actually referencing the Civil War in their comments. I went home and read about the Civil War in the encyclopedia. The next time I was confronted about the Civil War, a boy who was several years older than me said, “The only reason you Yankees won the war was that you had more people.” I replied, “The reason we had more people was that we were right.”

He was so angry that he shoved me and I fell into a ditch. My friendships with the black children at school continued, despite the fact that one girl’s mother came to our home and told my parents that I was going to get her daughter killed. Soon thereafter, our house was vandalized. Racial slurs were spray painted on the stone facade and windows were broken. The realtor who had sold my parents the house came to tell us that there was no way that we could stay in that town. The town purchased the house from my parents so that we could leave, and we moved an hour away.

Being black in a white town.

Noel Hudson,
ME

I go to college in a pretty white community. There are about 10-20 black people out of 600 students. I grew up in a town just south where the population was very mixed; Whites, Blacks, Hispanics, and Asians. The high school I went to rarely had any cases over racism as the town was so used to seeing people of any race. I came to this campus with my sister and immediately I found myself drawn closer to a clique of black friends with some Hispanics. I am a positive person and I want to be as friendly as I can be, but its so hard not to notice how people view me. I am 6’5 in height and I stand out and I always feel like an anomaly here. I’ve seen an old white lady clutch her purse as I walked past her on the sidewalk. I paid no mind, but it still upsets me. No matter how friendly I try to be the only ones that don’t view me as an anomaly or a stereotype are those who get to see my character in person. Off-campus it’s even worse; going into town I could immediately spot I was the only black person in their shopping district. I smiled and greeted everyone cheerfully I crossed paths with like some showcase, but not for a second was I not in fear or paranoia because I am black.

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